Heart Choice (25 page)

Clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder, Holm said, “In my opinion, he's more concerned about the Ritual here tonight than he is about the Clovers.”

“Huh!” said Antenn.

Lark turned to Straif, her lavender eyes meeting his. “The Clovers are a very interesting Family. Did you invite Trif Clover to the Ritual?”

“No.” He barely knew Trif Clover.

“With Winterberry as an extra man, you'll need another woman to even out the circle.”

“You're right,” Straif said. He wanted to go up to the Residence and check on Mitchella. Tell her how much he admired her, appreciated her.

But he had to examine the nasty trap. Her safety came first.

Seventeen

Straif studied the large rock, half embedded in mud, a
pyramid-like point sticking up. He said to Holm, “What do you think of this?”

“A reflective Flair trap. The more you use Flair to escape, the more your Flair is turned against you and you're hurt. Old-fashioned, but not difficult to set, and very effective.”

Straif focused his eyes until he could see the trail from the rock that had been the trigger to the nearby tree. “The rock has an attraction field around it, and a dip has been hollowed out before it. If a person wasn't paying too much attention to where they were going, if one wasn't looking for trouble, one would be drawn to it.” He
hated
the fact that Mitchella had been hurt on his grounds. His hands fisted. When he found out who'd done this, he'd make them pay.

“When the spell was tripped, the person would be propelled to the tree and into a living cage.” Holm whistled.

They stared at the broken, twisted, and frayed branchlets that had encased Mitchella.

Antenn said, “It's a series of nature spells, isn't it?” He scowled, jutted his chin defiantly at Straif. “I don't work with such spells. I'm an apprentice architect. I work with human-made materials to
build.
” Pinky sniffed as if punctuating Antenn's words. “Someone who spent a lot of time outside Druida in the wilds of Celta might know a lot of nature spells.”

“Antenn.” Lark's voice held a note of reprimand.

“Well, he would,” Antenn said. “I've never been outside of the city.”

Self-recrimination bit Straif. He'd hurt the feelings of the boy the day before. It would take time before Antenn would trust him. “I didn't set the spell,” Straif said quietly. “I have stronger Flair at my command.” He frowned. “Mitchella thought it was a threat. The other Blackthorn, perhaps,” he slanted a look at his cuz. “You've heard of that?”

Holm nodded. “We seem to be living exciting lives. I don't have the contacts in the Councils to help you there, anymore.”

“We can't stay in Druida long, just for the Ritual,” Lark said.

“Thank you for coming. The Ritual means a great deal to me. I believe most of the Hollys living at T'Holly Residence will be here tonight,” Straif said, tidying up the torn branches. They pulsed with Mitchella's energy.

Holm stiffened, and Lark embraced him. “Your mamá will be glad to see you,” she said.

Straif met his cuz's hard gray eyes. “T'Holly is coming to realize his mistake—his many mistakes—with regard to you and your HeartMate.”

“He won't admit to the world that he errored very soon,” Holm said, his expression resigned. He held his HeartMate tightly.

Straif felt the emptiness of his own arms, his own heart, and yearned for another—a woman. Mitchella.

“Better take care of the trap,” Antenn said. He tilted his head to look at the rock. “Do you think the rock should be destroyed?”

“It holds malice,” Straif said. The Flair trace surrounding it was a nasty yellow green. Not a sane color. “Even if ground to dust, the fragments would carry the malice. It will have to be cleansed.”

“You should let T'Ash do that,” Holm said. “He's the best with stones.”

“Right. He might be able to tell us more about it. But I'm giving it to Winterberry.”

“Hard to understand who the spell was aimed at—you, Mitchella, Antenn, or someone coming tonight.” Holm shook his head.

Fury flashed through Straif. “My estate has been defiled too often.”

Lark touched his arm. “The Ritual will secure it tonight.”

He rolled his shoulders to ease tense muscles. “Yes. You remind me that I should be preparing myself for the Ritual.”

“No sex,” Holm said cheerfully.

Straif glanced at Antenn, but he was watching Pinky stalk Holm's cat, the lazy Meserv. “Is my attraction that obvious?”

Holm grinned and took his HeartMate's hand from Straif's sleeve. “Quite. The Clovers are a remarkable Family.”

 
 
T'Holly arrived in the evening, about a septhour before
the Ritual. Straif was proud to lead the Captain of the Council into his newly refurbished ResidenceDen.

The GreatLord looked around with approval. “Very nice. In fact, I like it better than the way it was in your father's time.” His face tensed. “Your request for the use of the T'Blackthorn funds to restore the house has been denied. Whatever monies you have spent will be taken from your own account.”

Straif kept his expression blank, but couldn't prevent the heat of humiliation from warming his face. Even as he strove to total what he'd spent, he nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Are you sure everyone coming tonight is a good ally?” T'Holly asked.

Acid roiled in the pit of Straif's stomach. “As sure as I can be.” He glanced at the timer. He'd cleansed himself, dressed in his finest ritual robe woven of bright metallic threads, and meditated. He was due at the sacred grove for the preliminary steps of the Ritual. He couldn't brief T'Holly on the trap.

“Be careful.” T'Holly squeezed Straif's shoulder. “There are whispers going around the Councils that your obsession with remedying your genetic flaw is unhealthy, that you picked up odd notions traveling in the wilds of Celta, that you will not be able emotionally to face your past and restore your estate. It's said that you will continue to neglect your home, your land, and your duties by wandering Celta. I've heard gossip that your great Flair is unstable, which makes a lesser Flaired Blackthorn with no health problems more attractive to the Councils. I haven't been able to track down who started the rumors. Everyone will be watching you tonight.”

Straif swore.

“I can't lend you gilt openly, but if you need help . . .” T'Holly shook his head. “We'll figure out something.”

“T'Blackthorn and I have discussed finances,” Mitchella said from the doorway. She wore a long, purplish gown shot with golden threads that clung to her incredible figure. No scratches or bruises marred her pale skin. “With what we can accomplish tonight, my contacts, and the Residence stores, we should be fine. We'll scale back on expenditures and outside work, unless T'Blackthorn trades in favors with his allies.”

Straif said, “I will be more careful as I pursue my quest here in Druida.”

The sympathy and vitality flowing to him from Mitchella withdrew, and Straif ached with the loss.

She said, “Ailim Elder awaits you in the Grove of the Dark Goddess.” A sad smile passed over her face. “She is very pregnant. T'Heather, the Healer, is with her. The grove and the fountain are secure.” She curtseyed, Commoner to FirstFamily Lord, and Straif didn't like it. “You should go.”

Straif walked up to her, took her hands, and kissed them in turn. “I'll go. You'll join us shortly?”

She pinkened and withdrew her hands, gave her deepest curtsey to T'Holly, and left.

“A very beautiful and talented woman,” T'Holly said. Still something in his manner made Straif uncomfortable—did T'Holly approve or disapprove of his relationship with Mitchella, and why? Straif didn't want to know. He bowed, equally as formal as Mitchella. “I'll see you later, Uncle.”

T'Holly hesitated. “Is Holm here?”

“Of course. He and his HeartMate arrived earlier.”

Now T'Holly seemed to want to avoid impossible questions and impossible answers. “I'll see you later,” he grated.

 
 
Mitchella knocked on Antenn's suite door. When he
didn't call out, she glanced at her timer, then opened the door a crack. “Antenn? It's time we go down to the Grove of the Dark Goddess.”

He walked out of his bedroom, wearing a long bloused-sleeved tunic with small stand-up collar that fell to his knees, and bloused trous that fit at the ankles. Both were black shot with gold thread and dressier than anything she'd ever seen him in. He fussed with a black furrabeast leather belt.

“Isn't that Cago's Nameday Ritual outfit?” she asked.

Antenn flinched. “He outgrew it. He didn't like it anyway. I
asked
if I could have it. I knew we were participating in a Ritual where a lot of FirstFamilies will come, and I wanted to look right. They're your clients. I hope they'll be my clients, too. Cago said I could have it.”

He sounded so defensive that she hugged him and stroked his hair, but only once because of his pride. Then she stepped away. “You're very dashing.” She curtseyed to him. “GentleSir Moss.”

Eyeing her, he said, “Yeah?”

“Yes. Now you're making me nervous.”

“You always look beautiful,” he said, and gave her a sweet smile that touched her, since he used it so infrequently. She did love him, this child of her heart.

“You're wearing your old third Passage celebration gown.”

She laughed. “I thought I'd better wear my fanciest dress, too. And though it's not black for the Dark Goddess and the new twinmoons, it's purple for this month—Hawthorn. I'm not sure if GreatLord T'Hawthorn is coming, but if he is, he should be pleased that I'm wearing his color.”

“Everyone will be pleased just seeing you.” He scowled. “T'Blackthorn will like that gown. You'll be next to him at the Ritual. He'll probably look down the neckline.”

The neckline was of soft folds, but could definitely shift.

Hands on hips, Antenn stared at her, still frowning. “Are you going to have sex with him?”

Her stomach squeezed. “The attraction is there, and I'm thinking of it.” She'd never lied to Antenn and wouldn't start now, though she'd been much more discreet in her affairs since he'd become her ward.

“It can't last. It can't ever lead to anything serious.”

“Of course not.” In her early years, more than one man ended a relationship because she was sterile. Now she preferred very light and surface affairs. Except with Straif Blackthorn. “I'd like to have an affectionate and passionate affair.”

“He's a client.”

She grit her teeth. He wasn't saying anything that hadn't circled round and round in her mind, but it was tough hearing it. “I'm well aware of all the disadvantages of an affair with Straif Blackthorn.”

Antenn's gaze searched her face. “Does he know you're sterile?”

Mitchella shrugged. “It's old Commoner news that likely wouldn't reach Noble ears, but he's friends with T'Ash and D'Ash, who know I'm sterile. Probably.”

Lip curling, Antenn said, “I don't like him using you.”

“I plan on using
him
for”—
good, hot, sex
—“pleasure.”

“You won't get hurt?”

Mitchella put her hand on his shoulder. “Antenn, I try to make sure that no one ever gets hurt in my affairs, including me.”

“Huh. That doesn't mean it won't happen.” He slanted her a dark look.

“No, but I weigh the pleasure versus the pain factor. Sometimes the pleasure is worth any pain. Like having you. We've had our arguments, some resentments, but we worked through them and we're together. I can't think of a time when you won't be in my life, as my—friend.”

He flung himself at her, squeezed her tight, and strode from the room, moving rapidly from the suite and through the Residence. Mitchella followed. Finally he said, “Yes. We'll be together until I'm grown.” His voice sounded choked, and as they left the house, he lifted eyes that could have shone from tears. “You and the Clovers have taken care of me. I'll always take care of you, especially when you're old.”

“Thanks a lot,” Mitchella said, but the spring night touched her with soft air, with incredible streams of starlight and quickened her blood. She was on her way to see Straif, to link with him in a power circle, to be part of a FirstFamilies Ritual. She,
she,
Mitchella Clover, would be directing the energy to restore the Residence. She'd never felt so vital.